


if we could sail on the wind in the dark

by ghostbun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbun/pseuds/ghostbun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods who reside on Derselympus do not generally venture past the Furthest Ring and into the underworld, but it is certainly possible.</p><p>(sequel to "The Legend of Harleycles" by fortheloveofpizza)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we could sail on the wind in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Legend of Harleycles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/265740) by [fortheloveofpizza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofpizza/pseuds/fortheloveofpizza). 



> Written for a bonus round on the Homestuck Shipping Olympics on livejournal. The challenge was to create a companion piece to a work submitted by another group for one of the main rounds. I wrote a little sequel to "The Legend of Harleycles" because it hit me really hard right in the feelings, and because I love settings that have a canonical afterlife almost as much as I love tacking on cheap closure at the end of a well-written and affecting tragedy.

Your name is ROSETHENA. You are the DERSELYMPIAN goddess of WISDOM and WARFARE. Your are worshipped as the PROTECTOR OF LIGHT and SEER OF HEROIC ENDEAVORS, although until recently, you have not been the patron deity of any hero yourself.

Your mother doesn't say anything, although you don't know how much she knew to begin with, since she only seems to be interested in the affairs of mortals when they involve drunken debauchery. Davysus doesn't say anything either, doesn't change his manner toward you at all, except that he stops talking about Terechilles. You don't appreciate his careful tiptoeing around your feelings.

As a goddess, you have seen the deaths of thousands upon thousands of heroes. Heroes, no matter how much they may be worshipped by those they rescue, are still mortals.

 _It was bound to happen eventually_ , you tell yourself.

And yet.

\-----

Nepedite lacks the tact that is generally expected of goddesses. "I'm so sorry, Rose," she says from behind a pillar, sounding truly forlorn, like it breaks her heart to see one of her ships crash and burn. "I... well, I did expect it. But I really hoped it would be different."

"Do you need something?" Your needles congeal out of the darkness to slip into your clenched hands. Nepedite cringes, but does not withdraw. The goddess of love is every bit as much of a warrior as the heroes you oversee.

"I'm sorry," she says, but doesn't give you time to dismiss it before adding, "and, I don't think you should give up."

With all the dignity and poise you can muster, you begin walking away. "On being a patron to heroes, you mean? I think this has made it clear that I should have been content with being the Seer."

"No, I mean - don't give up on her," Nepedite shouts after you. "You're underestimating what mortals can do!"

You almost turn to look at her, to raise an eyebrow, but this conversation isn't worth your time. "Mortals can do a fair number of things when they're alive," you say, and keep walking.

Days later, sitting by the pool, you realize what she meant.

\---

There is nothing stopping you from traveling to the Furthest Ring. It just isn't something that gods do; why would anyone go there of their own accord?

Fefeseidon guides you past the whispering masses of pure horror that reach their tentacles toward you in the waterway that feeds into the Styx. You're not afraid of them, not after your time acting as a kind of emissary to them from Derselympus, but you imagine they are absolutely terrifying to mortals of even the bravest sort.

You cross the Styx yourself, gliding on thorned vines of the darkness that encloses you. When you arrive on the cold, misty shore, you don't need to look for the queen of the underworld, as you had prepared to. She is waiting.

"I assume you're going to tell me that you know my intentions and that they're patently foolish," you say.

"Yes and no," says Arades, and as always she is intolerably cheerful for a goddess of the dead. "Go ahead this way." She gestures toward a patch of fog that is, to you, indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape. You go anyway.

\-----

Harleycles is in a garden, the one patch of green you've found here. She's sitting by a fountain, idly swirling her hand around in the water. Something that looks like a smaller version of the Squiddledra extends a tentacle to brush her finger.

She looks up at the sound of your footfalls. Her eyes are white. "Rose?" she says, and may your own grace help you, her voice sounds the same as ever. "Rosethena?"

"Greetings," you say.

"I'm sorry," she says, and looks away like she's ashamed. "I thought I could defeat him! But you were right. I was too young, and not strong enough."

You are absolutely certain that no matter what it feels like your circulatory system is doing, it cannot kill you. "No one is," you answer, too clipped. "It was foolish, and - " Your voice breaks for a moment. "I wasn't watching you, anyway. So you were fighting Becberus without the patronage of a god, which is _incredibly_ ill-advised."

She stares at you, blankly, and you can't read her face at all with her eyes like that. You half-expect her to curse you for not protecting her.

But she brightens and says, "Can I try again, then?"

\----

Arades tells Harleycles that defeating Becberus, even if it were possible, would not give her passage back to the world of the living. This endeavor is sounding worse and worse to you. Harleycles is undeterred.

The devil-beast lumbers out of the fog, and Harleycles, small and pale and undeniably dead, marches toward him with her sword and shield raised. All three of his heads snarl at her, and he moves a gargantuan paw to block her way.

"Bad dog!" she shouts. "I'm not trying to escape!" She leaps at his neck and slashes, just grazing his fur.

"Harleycles, stop," you say, with all the authority of the halls of Derselympus. "This is pointless."

She lunges again and cuts a shallow line in one of his forepaws. He raises the other and bats her away. Her form thumps against the Stygian sand and skids across it. She braces her shield arm beside her, trying to get up.

"No," she says, her voice shaky. "I'm going to be the best hero ever! In your name!"

A deep chill rushes over you. "As your patron goddess, and as the Seer of Heroic Endeavors - " she struggles to her feet, and wobbles toward the beast again - "I demand that you stop, before - "

Harleycles makes a rasping noise that might have been a laugh. "Before he kills me?" She throws herself onto Becberus' foreleg, then up towards his chest, and grabs the sword embedded there.

She manages to pull it out an inch or so before Becberus screams and closes a pair of jaws around her. He shakes her and throws her to the ground. She does not move to get up.

You rush to kneel where she lies, the dignity of a goddess be damned.

"Please," you hiss, and you don't know what you're pleading for. She could hardly be more dead than she had been when you came.

But her eyes flutter open, even if they're no longer the vibrant green of spring. "Sorry," she says, again, and for a moment you are furious. "I tried."

"You have done enough for me," you say, and you're dimly aware that your voice is louder and sharper than you meant it to be. "You're the only hero I've ever accepted, and the only one I ever will, and the bravest and most dedicated hero I've _ever_ seen, and I'm the Seer - " You are babbling. You silence yourself and stare into the mist.

Harleycles smiles at you, though. "Thank you," she whispers. You see the effort it takes her to slide her hand through the sand towards you. What can you do, then, but take it?

The sound that echoes in the fog of the underworld is hideous and unfathomably loud, but it is undeniably a dog's whimper. You look up and see that Becberus has lowered his heads.

"He's showing deference to you," says Arades, and she sounds genuinely surprised. "He must respect Rosethena's wishes."

For a moment, you think it's more likely that he respects Harleycles, but you know better than to attribute qualities like admiration of heroism to a beast.

Your hero lifts her head very slightly. "Good dog," she says, and sounds tired but proud.

\-----

"No matter how much you love each other," Arades says, and you don't jump in to protest, "neither love nor heroism can undo death."

Before you leave, you want to give Harleycles the kiss she asked for the last time you spoke to her in the pool. You refrain. To kiss her and leave would sting far worse than if you had not come at all.

"I still, um." Harleycles fumbles a little, and she's blushing. "I mean what I said before! About. Really loving you. A lot."

You hesitate, thinking of all the doomed romances between heroes and their patrons. You suspect this one is already doomed enough that you can hardly ruin it further. "I love you," you allow yourself to say. You barely see her face light up with her smile before you turn to cross the river.

\-----

At the next full moon, you sit by the mirror pool. The constellation you made her is reflected in its waters.

You think it's a trick at first when the reflection shifts.

"Don't get too excited, okay? I can't leave the underworld," says the girl whose face you can see through layers of mist, white-eyed and bright and wearing pitch-black robes that shimmer with green. "But there are some things that I can do! Arades says it looks like Becberus is going to let me use the the fountain here to talk to you sometimes."

You settle against the shallow pool and trace your hand through her image, and you know she won't feel you stroking her hair, but you let yourself hope that somehow the sentiment will come through. "Then let's talk."


End file.
